Weathering the Storm
by Scribomaniac
Summary: Silverflint gods AU. After Silver loses his leg in a prank gone wrong, Flint starts to notice changes in his lover's personality. Turns out, there was more to the story than Flint ever imagined.


Flint sighed as he woke up from his slumber, turning over to his side on the bed he and his lover slept on. Keeping his eyes closed against the sun's rays, he took in a deep breath, breathing in the salty, beachy scent that clung to his new bed mate. Humming, Flint reach out an arm to pull his lover closer and frowned when his arms met only cold sheets. Sitting up with a groan, the god of justice and righteous fury glared around his bedroom until he found the person he was looking for.

Silver, god of mischief and transitions, sat at the foot of the bed with his back to Flint. His long, curly hair was loose and hanging down his back in waves and just begging Flint to reach forward and run his fingers through it. He would have, too, if he hadn't noticed what Silver was so focused on. The dark haired god stared down at his left leg–or what was left of it, anyway–and was replacing it with one illusion after another. One second his leg was whole, his calf and foot back where it used to be before the accident, then it was a flurry of feathered wings, then a ship's oar, and so on and so on before finally James reached out and touched his shoulder.

"Hey," he said softly, trying not to startle Silver. Although the god of mischief didn't jump, Flint could feel the muscles in his shoulder tense and the parade of mirages immediately stopped, leaving only the truth that was Silver's stump. "Silver?" He whispered, leaning forward on his knees so he could kiss the space between Silver's shoulder blades.

The two of them hadn't been together for very long, barely three decades, but–being immortal deities and all–they'd known each other for millennia. Usually the god of mischief was upbeat and lively, never sitting or standing in one place for long and always trying to get a laugh out of someone–usually at the expense of someone else. Silver still did that, of course, still caused mischief and trickery wherever and whenever he could, but he was more reserved now. Sometimes Flint thought he saw something flash behind his lover's eyes, or thought that his smile wasn't quite so carefree, but whatever it was always disappeared as fast as it came.

Straightening his back, Silver shook his head twice before turning around to kiss Flint fully on the mouth. He pulled away, showing Flint the Cheshire grin on his face. "Morning," he leaned in for another kiss, but Flint leaned back just out of reach.

"What were you doing with your leg?" Flint couldn't help but ask, his brows furrowing with worry.

"Nothing," Silver said roughly, bringing Flint's attention back to the present. Flint's green eyes met Silver's blue, "I was just playing with some illusions–-thought I might try them out on some mortals later today."

Flint hummed, not quite believing him. Sure, he believed Silver would freak out some unsuspecting mortals with illusions today, but Silver hated rising with the sun. He always insisted that the morning was best spent in one of three ways: sleeping, lounging, or fucking. The fact that he rose before Flint at all was sending off warning bells in the red haired god's mind.

Glancing down at Silver's missing leg, Flint murmured, "You never did tell me how you lost it." It felt like barely yesterday that Silver was strutting about on both legs. Then, barely a fortnight ago, during a prank gone wrong, Silver had returned home with just one. He'd barely been able to tell Howell, the god of medicine and bitterness, that it'd been a Hydra that attacked him. Beyond that, though, Silver never spoke of it. He didn't even try to spin one of the many lies that naturally flowed out of his mouth. "Who were you trying to play a trick on?"

Flint knew immediately that was the wrong thing to say as Silver's eyes darkened–-again, only for a moment-–before he turned away from Flint and stood up from the bed. Grabbing his silver crutch–-a gift from the god of the forge, Joji–-Silver quickly dressed. "Where are you going?" Flint asked, deciding to stand up as well. Instead of moving for his clothing, he walked up to Silver and wrapped his arms around the other man's waist. Placing a trail of open mouth kisses along the curve of his neck. "Come back to bed with me," he pleaded hoarsely into Silver's ear before taking the lobe into his mouth to tease with his teeth.

Pulling out of Flint's arms, Silver pushed his hair out of his face, "I forgot, I promised Max I'd help her with some mortals today. Apparently some of them have been evading her lately," he shrugged, the stopped what he was doing to rack his eyes up and down Flint's naked form. Smirking, he stepped closer and took Flint's face in his hands. "I'll be back by nightfall," he said softly, leaning in to brush his nose against Flint's with such tenderness it almost made the red haired god whimper. "Patience, Flint," he whispered so softly against the other god's lips, the sensitive skin barely touching. His breath was arm and comforting against Flint's face and he felt his eyes fluttering closed in anticipation of a kiss. "Tonight–-when I take you back into that bed, I'll–-"

"You talk too much," Flint growled before leaning forward and taking Silver's lips with his own. The kiss was all tongue and teeth before teasing the skin underneath Flint's jaw with his teeth. The god of justice moaned and lowered his hands to Silver's ass before giving the firm cheeks a strong squeeze, making sure to dig his fingers into the cloth covered flesh.

"Oh," Silver bucked against Flint. Flint was sure Silver would forget about his meeting with Max and drag him back to the bed, which he would have done in the past, but instead Flint found himself being left high and dry as Silver pulled away. "Later," he promised, before disappearing in a haze of mist.

Groaning, Flint walked back to his bed. The god of justice and righteous fury had some unfinished business he had to take care of before starting on his work in the mortal realm.

* * *

Winter was the busiest season for Flint. Mortals would become desperate during the colder months and resort to thieving and killing, causing outrage and a need for his righteous fury to come down and warm them while delivering his swift justice to the perpetrators. Flint loved the season. He was always needed, always busy, always with purpose. If he had the power, he'd keep the mortals in a perpetual state of winter. Unfortunately for the god of justice, as the summer sun warmed Flint's back as he watched the mortals from atop a cloud, he did not. He stared down at the mortals with disinterest. The sun had passed it's peak, and the chances of anyone calling for his aid were quickly plummeting. All mortals followed the same pattern, no matter how different each one was. They all liked to get things over and done with early in the day, leaving their evenings for fun and rest, which meant if anyone had any grievances, they'd pray to him before noon. It made sense, Flint mused as his eyes drifting over to some small children playing make believe, since they were all cut from the same cloth eons ago.

Flint thought he'd be bored, watching the children, but he found his curiosity peaked instead. He was too far away to hear them, but he could see well enough that one of them was hobbling around on one leg while keeping his other leg slightly off the ground. At first, the red haired god thought it was a balancing game, but the young mortal boy had a wooden sword in hand, too, and was waving it about madly, as if he was fighting something. The other children's eyes were large and alight with joy, enjoying the hobbling child's ministrations. Making a split second decision, Flint leapt off his cloud and plummeted down to the Earth. He landed silently, thanks to his immortal grace, behind a house and transformed his godly form into a dull, mortal one. He wanted to know what the children were doing, and he couldn't do that if they were slack jawed and bowing down to him.

The children were alternating between giggling loudly and shrieking playfully. One of the other children stood across from the hobbling boy and raised his hands above his head, roaring as loudly as he could. Scraping his foot against the ground, he huffed out his nose like a bull about to charge. "Be gone!" The hobbling boy yelled, a wide grin on his face as he flourished his sword at the pretend monster. "Be gone! 'Tis I, the god Silver! You cannot defeat me, beast, and you will not hurt these poor mortals!" He gestured to the other children watching on the sidelines. They cheered and hollered for their champion.

Flint's brows furrowed and his lungs tightened. He was used to reenacting the feats of the gods, but usually the stories involving Silver were more humorous and less heroic than the one he was watching. He wracked his brain for a story involving Silver fighting a beast, but nothing came to him. Silver wasn't the type of god to help mortals, either. Most didn't even pray to him, or if they did it was in the hopes that'd he'd leave them be. He wasn't a helpful deity like Eleanor, goddess of fortune and resourcefulness. He didn't instill fear like Vane, the god of plague and destruction. Nor was he very useful, like Anne, the goddess of protection and family. No, Silver wasn't like the other gods. The mortals didn't revere him, or fear him. They loved him. He brought them joy and laughter–-good humored fun. Well, _usually_ good humored.

There was something missing, some key piece of information Flint didn't have. He continued to watch the children, hoping to learn what that missing piece was. The beast charged the hobbling child, playfully veering left at the last second before coming back around and slapping the Silver-impersonator on the left leg. "Ahh!" The child fell onto his back dramatically, dropping his fake sword. "Damn you, Hydra!" Flint stopped breathing. If he were mortal, he would have died from suffocation. His eyes dried up, but he wouldn't blink. He wouldn't take his gaze off the little play for anything in the world. Not even the return of the Titans.

Everything blurred and Flint could suddenly see perfectly. He saw the rocky cave where the Hydra lived. Saw the cowering mortals backed into a corner, grasping at one another with white knuckles, and Silver–Silver bruised, bloody, maimed, on the ground before the ferocious beast with no weapon to save him. The Hydra reared back, its heads letting out an ear piercing wail, and charged at Silver who was just barely able to sit up, his attention wrapped up in the pain of his newly missing leg. The Hydra approached, and right before the it could strike it's final blow, Silver pulled out his sword from no where–an illusion having kept it invisible to the beast, and stabbing the beast in the chest.

Finally Flint had to blink, and the scene disappeared, leaving only reality before him. There was no Silver, just a little boy with a champion's smile. There was no Hydra, just another boy with a wooden sword stuck in between his arm and chest, lying on the ground. The god of justice tried to swallow, but found his mouth too dry to do such a task. Mortals weren't this creative, he thought, they couldn't have come up with this story on their own. "You are safe now!" The boy-Silver proclaimed, puffing out his chest with pride and once again balancing himself on one leg. "Be gone, now," he waved his hand at them carelessly. "Before the Hydra awakens, and never return!"

Laughing, one of the small girls stepped forward and asked, "But what about your leg, lord Silver?"

Looking down at his fake stump, the young boy smirked and said, "Oh this? 'Tis but a scratch!" He threw his head back and laughed, then, as the rest of the audience bowed and said their thank yous almost as sincere and profusely as if they'd truly been saved from a Hydra.

Flint watched in awed silence as the child playing the Hydra stood up and quickly began to jump up and down, "I call Silver next!" Not able to watch any more of it, Flint disappeared in a flurry of wind, and rode the gust to find Silver. Something was still missing. Flint didn't understand. Silver had told him he'd lost his leg in a prank gone wrong. He never mentioned any mortals, or trying to save them. It didn't add up–Silver loved telling stories, especially about himself. Why wouldn't he take this opportunity to brag? To show off? _It didn't make sense_.

Barging into Max's palace, he found its mistress resting in bed with Anne. They were both naked, though thankfully not in the throes of, with Anne resting her face in the crook of Max's neck as she gently caressed the goddess of protection's red hair. Normally Flint would blush, apologies profusely, and turn around to give the goddesses time to either cover up or give him permission to look, but not today. "Where's Silver?" He growled.

"The fuck?" Anne asked, lifting her head to glare at him. "He ain't here."

Not missing a beat, he asked, "When did he leave?"

"He ain't been here all day," Anne's upper lip pulled back in a grimace and she rose fully now to kneel protectively in front of Max. "Now get the fuck out."

Not looking at the red haired goddess–-which probably wasn't the smartest ideas considering she looked ready to flay him, and wouldn't hesitate to do it-–Flint kept his eyes on Max and said, "He said he was coming here today. helping you with some mortals who were avoiding your power."

Max must've seen something in Flint's eyes, something desperate, because she lightly placed a hand on Anne's bony shoulder, easing the goddess's aggression, and sat up. Raising an eyebrow, she asked, "Does it look like I need help seducing mortals?" When Flint didn't answer, she sighed, "I haven't seen him today, Flint, and did not ask him to stop by. I am sorry, but I do not know where he is."

Needing nothing more from the two goddesses, Flint turned heel and left the palace. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. Flint couldn't get a handle on his thoughts. Why would Silver lie to him about helping Max? Where was he now? Why didn't he tell him the real story behind his leg? Flint flew on a gust of wind to Silver's home by the sea. His heart was hammering in his chest by the time he arrived. Unlike Max's palace, Silver's home was inside a quaint little cove that over looked the sea. It was simple, really only a place for Silver to rest and be alone when he felt the need. Usually the two spent their nights in Flint's cottage on a small island off the main land. Flint knew he wasn't there, so he could only hope to find his lover in the cove. If Silver wasn't there, he wasn't sure where else to look. Silver never took to one particular place. He was always much more attached to people.

Thankfully, Flint wouldn't have to look elsewhere after all, and found the god of mischief and transitions curled up on his bed, staring blankly at the cave wall in front of him. From his perspective, Flint could easily see the redness around Silver's eyes, the way his back trembled with after shocks of tears, and hear the uneven breaths puffing their way out of his mouth. "Silver?" Flint whispered, just as he had that morning. And just like that morning, Silver's back tensed up.

Silver turned his face away for a moment, and then turned over and sat up to look at Flint. Everything Flint had just witnessed–-the red, puffy skin, the bank look in his lover's eyes, the trembling body–-had disappeared. Silver looked at him, a small smile on his face, and a sparkle in his eyes. "Hello, lover," Silver greeted.

Flint wouldn't be fooled this time. His frown deepened at the sight in front of him, finding it much more worrying than the one he initially walked in on. "Enough of the bull shit, Silver. Take off the mask."

Tilting his head to the side, Silver's brows furrowed and he pouted. He looked like the definition of confused. "Beg pardon? What specific bull shit are you referring to?" He lips twitched, reminding Flint of his old trickster self. He knew better though.

"The illusion. The one over your face. how long have you been wearing one in front of us, hmm? in front of me?"

"I'm not sure I–-"

" _Enough of the bull shit_ ," Flint hissed. Then, letting out a burst of hot air through his nostrils, he ran a hand over his shaved head and said, in a much calmer tone. "I know what happened. With the Hydra."

Silver's face froze, and for a moment Flint thought he was going to keep on playing his game of ignorance. But then he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, and his lower lip trembled ever so slightly. After another second the illusion over his face crumbled and Flint was shown the truth. Silver's eyes were wet with unshed tears, and there was an endless darkness within them that made Flint's heart falter. His face was swollen and blotchy, obvious signs that he'd been crying before now, and for a long time, too. His lips were chapped and bloody. He was falling apart.

Rushing over onto the bed, Flint gathered his lover's broke form into his arms and began making hushed noises into his ears. Silver's form curled in on itself and tremors rolled down his body as he tried to suppress his grief. "Shh, shh," Flint kissed the top of Silver's head, breathing in deeply before pressing another kiss to the dark curls. "It's all right, Silver."

"No, it's not," Silver moaned, his voice hoarse and weak.. He needed water, but Silver was clutching onto Flint now, and there was no one else around to get him some. "I'm broken."

"Silver, you saved those mortals. You're not broken–you're a hero." Silver shook his head and whimpered at the word. "You are," he insisted. "Why did you tell me," he stopped, then tried to tamp down on some of his anger. He was the god of righteous fury, after all, sometimes it got the better of him. he couldn't let it, though, not now. "Why didn't you tell me the truth?" Silver froze in his arms. He didn't even seem to be breathing. "Why did you tell me you lost your leg due to a prank?"

"I didn't," he whimpered, his body still unmoving.

Flint frowned, turning his head slightly in an attempt to look into Silver's blue eyes. He couldn't. Not in their current positions. He thought about what Silver had just said, and all at once it hit him. he felt like Vane had sucker punched him in the stomach. "You didn't," he agreed softly. "We assumed–- _I_ assumed that you were playing a prank." Guilt flooded him in waves. He'd asked, sure, but Silver had never told him how he lost the leg. Everyone just assumed he'd lost it by causing mischief. No one for one second would have thought he'd lost it doing something heroic. No one except those mortals down below, it would seem.

"I'm not a hero," Silver whispered, finally releasing some of the tension in his body and slumping further into Flint's embrace. "I've never tried to be one. So why _the fuck_ did I think I could play the part against a _fucking Hydra_ and succeed."

"You did succeed," Flint told him, his brows furrowing again. This time he pulled away so he could cup the other god's face in his hands. "You saved those mortals, Silver. You are a hero."

Silver scoffed and wrenched his face out of Flint's hold. "Look at me," he sneered down at his missing leg. "I'm no hero–-just a cripple." The amount of self loathing in his tone shocked Flint. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, trying to find the right words that would soothe his lover from his torment.

"Why didn't you talk to me?" He asked, tentatively reaching out to touch his face again. Silver let him, which he took as a good sign. Running his thumb over Silver's cheekbone soothingly, his chest eased some when Silver's eyes closed in pleasure and he hummed. "You didn't have to hide all this pain, Silver."

The dark haired god sighed dejectedly, "Yes, I did. Look at me, Flint. Do I look mischievous to you? Do I look carefree? No," he laughed. It was short and desolate and made Flint want to cry. "I look broken–bitter. No one wants a bitter trickster god. The other gods don't, and the mortals don't either. I have to give them what they want. What they expect from a trickster."

"Not with me," Flint said hoarsely, but with vigor. Cupping Silver's face again, Flint pulled them closer until their brows were touching and could feel their breaths mingling. "You don't have to wear a mask with me. Never with me." He leaned up and kissed Silver's forehead, then his right cheek, then his left, and finally placed a hard, brutal kiss on his mouth. "Do you understand me?" He used one of his hands to weave into the locks at the base of Silver's head and gave a firm yank, making the other god gasp and his eyes glimmer with focus and life.

Silver's face crumpled with relief and love and a million other emotions. His eyes teared up again, but he didn't stop them from falling this time. Nodding his head furiously, he swallowed several times, trying to say something. Unable to form any words, though, Silver just kept nodding. Any other time Flint would have basked in the phenomenon that was a Silver lost for words, but not this time. Now he used the hand that was still in the other god's hair to guide his head to rest in the crook of his neck and lay them down on Silver's bed. They were in for a bad storm, Flint knew that–-knew this was only the first step of Silver's recovery–-but he also knew, without a doubt in his mind, that they'd weather it.

 **A/N: I've had this fic on my mind for a little while so I finally decided to write it! Let me know what you thought by leaving a review!**


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